


Life Bound By Chains

by panther



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dystopia, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:19:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panther/pseuds/panther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy is successful in her attempts to get the school to hand over Harry Potter but gets more than she bargains for when her reward is him being entrusted into her special care. She becomes responsible for him never forgetting his refusal to join Voldemort’s side and Harry realises that in the end, they might have more in common than they think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Bound By Chains

**Author's Note:**

> written for pphpficexchange on lj.

" _Only the dead have seen the end of war”_ \- Plato

Harry wakes slowly, a dull throbbing at the back of his head becoming more obvious as he does so, his muscles aching with weary agony. The first thing he notices as he shifts on the floor is that the slightest movement sends searing pain across his body and the second is that it is cold. Blinking, he slowly opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings.  
It seems that his muscles are now used to it, being in pain after a year on the run, and yet he still flinches as he drags himself into a sitting position and takes in his surroundings. Gray, damp, walls surround him with stone arches meeting low ceilings that seem to box Harry in. He holds back a shiver because he doesn’t know who might be watching, and showing weakness never ends well, and waits. Clearly, he is in a dungeon but it isn’t one he recognises so perhaps there are small mercies after all and he has escaped the clutches of the Malfoys. Not that he would ever have ended up in their hands. Their fall from grace was known to all and Harry remembers how they had behaved when he was in their home. He was a prisoner there and yet somehow he could tell that so were they.

The longer Harry sits on the cold stone floor, legs crossed and hands in his lap, the more he remembers. It might have been that day, it might have been yesterday, and it might have been a week ago. Harry has no idea how long he has been lying there but the congealed blood stuck to his jeans suggests more than just a few hours. Voldemort had won. The Dark Lord had found Harry at Hogwarts, because of Parkinson, before he could destroy the parts of his soul and had come to the Great Hall to make an example of the boy who dared to defy him. Harry had been tortured in front of his old classmates as a promise of what awaited anyone who defied Voldemort and had waited for his death. Yet, it never came.

The ultimate demonstration of Voldemort’s superiority had been to leave Harry alive. After so many years trying to kill him in one way or another it seemed oddly ironic. Harry remembers how the words had been ringing in his head as he trembled and twitched at Voldemort’s feet in the Great Hall, desperately trying to focus on the words in an escape to block out the pain. Harry Potter was no longer seen as a threat and with the searing pain he had experienced after those words, the young wizard was willing to bet that the Dark Lord had done something to his magic to make sure that things stayed that way.

The only other thing that Harry was aware of was that he had been handed over to one of, who he assumed was, Voldemort’s favourite servants as some sort of reward for their services.

He could only sit and wait in the cold to find out who that was.

*

A house-elf appears at Pansy’s side the moment Harry Potter wakes. The elf trembles and Pansy merely raises an eyebrow and waves her hand to demand that it speak.

“Mr Potter be awake now, Mistress. Mipsy kept watch and reported right away just as Mistress asked.”

Pansy nods and then goes back to brushing her long dark hair, ignoring the tremble that goes through her fingers, before applying her lipstick and rising to her feet.

“Prepare the prisoner buttered bread and water. Bring it to me when I call for you,” Pansy states quietly, ignoring how Mipsy nods and bows until her nose touches the floor as the young witch brushes past her and makes her way through her grand manor, slightly irritated that Potter was awake now when she had plans to go out.

It hadn’t crossed her mind to do anything other than hand Potter over to the Dark Lord because that had been what was asked of her. It wasn’t about a great reward but stopping the violence that was sure to be unleashed upon the school. It was self preservation at its best. The reward didn’t cross her mind until after Goyle had grabbed Potter and Carrow had brought the Dark Lord to the school. Everyone else was placed within a special shield charm to prevent them escaping while Pansy herself had been left with Potter and the teachers to await the Dark Lord’s arrival. He had appeared, tortured Potter in front of her, and unleashed his fury at the Death Eaters teaching at the school for their failure to capture Potter themselves and then congratulated Pansy and promised her rewards and status the likes of which she would never have dreamed of.

It had been the single most terrifying experience of her life.

Reaching the dungeons Pansy stops and braces herself, making sure looks impeccable, before blasting the doors open with her wand and descending the stone steps. Locking eyes with a shocked Harry Potter she leaves the doors unlocked, showing she doesn’t fear his escape, and moves forward before conjuring a simple wooden chair in front of Potter and sitting down.

His magic has been bound. He is helpless.

*

Harry is silent for a few moments before deciding that Pansy clearly isn’t about hex him, “ _Parkinson?!_ ”

It is short and simple and Pansy understands completely, spreading her fingers out across her knees and feeling the soft fabric crinkle at her touch, taking a moment before answering him.

“Potter. It seems that you have been placed in my, shall we say, _care_ until further notice.”

Harry’s heart sinks. What does that mean? “Where are we?” he asks wearily.

“Parkinson manor of course. Where else would we be? I won’t be forced from my home simply because of you. You’re not important enough to dictate such things anymore, Potter,” Pansy sneers in response, perfectly aware that he has no way to know where he is and that it is a perfectly legitimate question but enjoying the power she has over her former classmate.

Harry stares back at her and shifts slightly on the floor, not making any sudden movements, not knowing how his old classmate will respond, “That isn’t what I meant. When is he coming for me?”

“He isn’t,” Pansy answers shortly, not needing to ask who _he_ is. Harry’s green eyes widen comically and Pansy smirks, “It is over Potter. The Dark Lord will rein unopposed. You have been left alive to show the Lord’s supremacy over you. Your care has been entrusted to me. I now have the ultimate status symbol as keeper of precious, ickle, wittle, Harry _Potter_ ” Pansy hisses, eyes gleaming and Harry thinks he might be physically sick over her clearly expensive leather boots.

“It would never be so simple,” Harry rasps in shock.

Pansy’s face screws up, reminding Harry why they had always said she was pug-like, and she laughs, “Of course not Potter. Not as dim as you look are you? No, it won’t be that simple. You’re going to be reminded constantly of your stupidity in refusing a place at the Dark Lord’s side. I’m going to make sure that is something you are _never_ able to forget. _Crucio!!!!_ ”

Pansy doesn’t stop and Harry thinks that maybe it might have been better to die if the life she speaks of is the one he is destined to live.

*

The truth is Pansy doesn’t know what she is going to do with Potter. She hadn’t contemplated being his...guard, if that was what she was. Her life had been on a set path from when she was a child and her goals were to grow up as the perfect pureblood daughter, attract the attentions of the Malfoy family, and marry Draco. Now, the Dark Lord had forbidden such a union. Pansy had been told in no uncertain terms that she was now above the disgraced Malfoy family. She was now above those who had failed in their tasks as she had not failed in doing what was asked of _her_.

Still, her hand trembles as she pours herself a fire whiskey and sinks down into an armchair by the fireplace after leaving Potter in a trembling heap with a tray of food at his feet. Torture had been a skill she had picked up well from the Carrows but that didn’t mean she enjoyed hurting people. This wasn’t how she had pictured her life was going to be. The Dark Lord was meant to take Potter and go and leave her to finish her schooling! It wasn’t even possible to just leave Potter in the dungeon and get on with her life because she had to take care of him and continue to dole out his punishment at the same time. She feels like an Azkaban guard and scowls.

She feels like a china doll trapped in its box for safety reasons. Young and reasonably attractive despite the names she had been called, Pansy wanted to be out and about socialising and being part of the new world her Lord was creating and instead she was trapped within her home to take care of a man she didn’t care for. All because she wanted to save her skin and avoid a battle at Hogwarts.

Mispy brings her lunch on a silver tray and Pansy contemplates Potter lying broken on the floor in the dungeons beneath her feet. She has a tea party to go to at the home of Daphne Greengrass that afternoon, wearing the same robes she wore to torture her old classmate, and she wonders how long it will take for that to play on her mind. Daphne does not worry about such things because Daphne no longer has a care in the world. Now Potter is awake, nearly a full week after his arrival, Pansy allows the fears to play across her mind. Maybe she doesn’t have things in common with her old friends anymore because how could they possibly understand the duty she is now lumbered with? They would see it as an honour and Pansy sees it more as a weight holding her down. How is she to attract a husband with another man a prisoner under their sitting room? How can she tell if someone is interested in her, her family, or just her status as Potter’s keeper? Love is not something many purebloods achieve before their marriage but Pansy at least wants to gain a marriage on her own merit and not on the results of a split second decision made as a school girl in terror.

Finishing her lunch, she reapplies her make-up and changes into a different pair of shoes before leaving.

“Mipsy!” Pansy roars, standing in front of the fireplace ready to leave.

The elf appears with a sharp crack, “Yes Mistress?”

“Guard Potter while I am gone. If he tries to escape, use your magic to restrain him, and if he _does_ escape, I hear the Black’s used to display the heads of dead elves on their walls. I might look into it and you can be the jewel of my new exhibit!”

“Y-yes Mistress. Mipsy be good, Mipsy watch Mr Potter.”

Pansy nods sharply and throws herself into the fire. He only awoke that morning. She already feels part of a different world. Torturing someone before leaving to attend social functions should not be part of someone’s daily routine.

*

Harry did not attempt to escape the dungeon at Parkinson manor. He wasn’t aware of the elf watching his every move from the corner of the room disillusioned and normally he would pick up on such things easily, just not feeling right. Parkinson really packed a punch with her curses but somehow, Harry reflected, he hadn’t seen malice in her eyes. Instead, it had been a quiet sort of desperation reflected in her blue gaze.

This wasn’t a life she had chosen for herself, more one that she had stumbled into, and so though Harry was in agony at her hand he felt something he wasn’t sure he’d feel again, a slither of hope.

*

Pansy expected to feel alienated from everyone around her and to her disappointment it turned out to be true. People spoke of upcoming social events, gossiped over who had fallen from the Dark Lord’s favour and speculated on how long it would take to be rid of all the Mudbloods and Pansy couldn’t connect with any of it. It was like a distant humming in her ears. All she could focus on was the man in her dungeon, the man she had left in a twitching heap, a man she grew up with. Taunts had turned to hexes and now she was torturing him. She had done it before and would do again. It didn’t sit right with her because despite pressure to join, the Parkinson family had never actually been marked as Death Eaters themselves. Pansy was loyal but she had never actually joined the Dark Lord’s ranks officially. She neither belonged to their ranks, nor the rest of society because she was doing the work of a Death Eater like the terrifying Bellatrix Lestrange.

Even if Pansy agreed with certain ideals, it didn’t change the fact that the woman terrified her and stories of her had always left her feeling cold inside hoping she never escaped Azkaban.

Come the end of the afternoon Daphne suggests that Pansy host the next tea party and Pansy feels her cheeks warm, “Oh, I’m afraid I can’t,” _because I have Harry Potter prisoner in my house and you might hear him screaming for help_ , “The manor is being refurbished. I will need to have you over when it is done,” Pansy bluffs with a smile, cringing as she realises if anyone is likely to hold her to that it is Daphne.

“Oh, how lovely! I admit your decor in some areas did leave a lot to be desired. I am glad you have decided to do something different with the place,” Daphne says sweetly, perhaps too sweetly, and all Pansy can do is smile back and say her goodbyes before going home.

Everything has changed. She doesn’t belong there anymore and it has only been a week since he arrived.

*

“Ron and Hermione? Do you know what happened to them? Please Pansy?”, Harry rasps, a crumpled heap on the floor, as Pansy towers over him with her wand still pointed at his form three days later.

“You’re in no position to make demands, Potter!” she sneers before leaving the dungeons and slamming the door behind her. Harry hears the door being locked again and perhaps is foolish to let himself feel safe as exhaustion claims him and he lays his head on the floor, barely conscious.

Pansy had been brutal since that first day, tears gathering in her eyes on the second before she had stormed off, by now on the third it just felt like they were racing towards breaking point without any way to stop it.

There was no doubt in Harry’s mind now. Pansy Parkinson had not asked for this. It _was_ fear he had seen in her eyes when she had stepped out of the throng of students and demand that Goyle grab him. It was panic that her flashed across her face as she stunned him. Slytherins were masters of self preservations and Harry had been the victim of Pansy’s attempt to survive. He doubted very much that this was the life she had planned for herself.

*  
He doesn’t ask about Ron or Hermione the next time. He doesn’t have to. Pansy leaves him a newspaper when she leaves, detailing their public execution Diagon Alley that served as yet another warning.

Harry doesn’t have any tears left to cry for them, nothing left to give, because to him all hope has been lost. No family, no friends that truly know him, and no way of ever facing the Weasley family knowing his mere existence and friendship got their youngest son killed.

Pansy comes back down to the dungeon that night and lifts the paper off the floor, her movements slow and deliberate. She is almost cautious in the way she conjures a chair for herself and after a moment’s hesitation creates a second for Harry who stares at it like it is a viper before slowly pulling himself into it.

“I’m sorry,” Pansy offers, “For what it is worth. You know....I never wanted anyone to die. I just....I just didn’t want them at our school, holding us back.”

“Hermione was the brightest witch of our generation,” Harry responds almost automatically, holding back the flinch out of sheer pride as he waits for Pansy’s wand to appear from the folds of her robes.

Instead, she just nods, “That she was. So many mud-muggleborns are not. They don’t understand our ways. They come crashing into ours world and call it archaic. They insult everything about our society and make no attempt to integrate but expect us to welcome their world into ours and then they leave and take their skills with them! They take a security risk and increase the fear and we get nothing in return. I never wanted them to _die_ Potter. I just....I guess I wanted something different. Not this, never this.”

“I didn’t expect to survive the war, one way or the other,” Harry offers after a few tense moments, “I...I just didn’t,” he finishes lamely.

He almost wishes to apologise for being an inconvenience to Pansy because it feels that is all he has been all his life, an inconvenience that received punishment one way or another and was kept in a dark space and barely fed. It feels oddly like normality for him and his time at Hogwarts was just the break from that. He wonders if that is why he hasn’t cracked yet.

To his parents who he forced into hiding. To his godfather that lost his life to Askaban because of the series of events his birth set in motion. To his aunt and uncle who didn’t ask to have to care for him. To the Weasleys who didn’t need another mouth to feed when he visited. To Voldemort who just wanted him dead. Rationality has faded with every curse and he just feels like he stood in the way of all of them.

He is strangely at peace with his fate. His life is not so radically different from his childhood when he thinks about it. It is Pansy’s that has changed and somehow he feels sorry for her. He snorts, unable to hold back the laughter, and Pansy raises an eyebrow.

“Something amusing you, Potter,” she demands menacingly.

“I feel sorry for you. How fucked up is that? You torture me every day. You make me scream in pain and I feel sorry for _you_ because I’m used to this shit and you’re not.”

She blinks at him, seemingly unable to decide if he is being serious or not, and then slowly rises to her feet.

“I can’t leave you alone. People will be sent to check on you.”

“I know. That is okay.”

“You are a strange man, Harry Potter,” she comments quietly, receiving a crooked smile in return.

“I have been told that once or twice. You’re a beautiful woman Pansy Parkinson. And you don’t deserve this life. No matter what happened at school, we were just kids, and you don’t deserve this,” Harry murmurs quietly, shifting slightly on his seat.

“Mipsy will bring you food soon,” Pansy says, her voice cracking as she turns her back on him, “Is there anyone else you need to know about?”

Harry blinks and slowly turns the words over in his mind, thinking, wondering why she is offering it and if he might ever possibly understand this broken woman she has become, “No, I...I don’t think I really want to know to be honest.”

“Yes, that about sums life up these days. It is better not knowing what is missed, whatever that may be.”

With that she tenses and hurries towards the steps back up to the main part of the house, slamming the door behind her without another word before falling against it and bursting into tears that Harry hears. It is perhaps the most horrific thing he has endured since his arrival at Parkinson manor.

Torture he can handle. The realisation that even for the supposed _victors_ it isn’t over, he just can’t.

*

For them the war isn’t over. It never will be, not as long as they remain in a life bound by chains that anchor them to the past. They reach the same realisation in time and note that they are not as different as they would like to be. Perhaps, they would both be better dead, because after all, the only thing that either of them ever wanted was for it to be over and only the dead have seen the end of war.


End file.
